Medeili grew more panicked with every second she spent “eating.” A vast sense of unease swayed in her heart, for she feared the black-haired girl would suddenly snap her dark eyes open, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. She imagined Wang Yue’s tail and arms coiling around her waist just as she tried to flee, whispering playfully into her ear: Is it tasty? Why are you running? You little hypocrite.
But her greatest fear was that Wang Yue would genuinely hate her—that she would be disgusted by Medeili’s duplicity.
Taking advantage of someone while they were fast asleep was a low blow. For a moment, a chorus of accusations rang in her head: Opportunist! Shameless! Bullying a drunk girl!
Unable to withstand the mounting guilt, Medeili pulled her lips away and retreated in terror.
She looked around in a daze, but the tavern was empty. She let out a long sigh of relief, secretly thankful that no one had witnessed her “wicked deed.”
At that moment, Wang Yue “woke up” slowly. She rubbed her eyes and asked with a weary face, “Plum, how long was I out?”
“Um—” The orange-haired girl stared blankly for a long time before stammering, “About fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks for looking after me. I’m definitely not drinking any strange beverages again,” Wang Yue said apologetically. “Good thing you were here, or some villain might have carried me off. You’re really someone I can rely on, Plum.”
Faced with those eyes full of trust and gratitude, Medeili began to tremble. Overwhelmed by shame, she wished she could find a crack in the floorboards to crawl into.
How… how could I do that to Wang Yue? I’m so despicable…
Medeili bit her lip, her eyes turning red as she teetered on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong?” Wang Yue asked with concern.
“I’m sorry… I failed your trust…”
Medeili’s voice cracked as her lips trembled. She confessed everything about her “theft,” twisting her fingers and bowing her head in a submissive posture, waiting for her punishment.
Heh…
You little dummy…
Of course I knew you were stealing a taste…
And you were eating so slowly, it was making me anxious for you…
“It’s okay,” Wang Yue said, waving her hands dismissively with a gentle smile. She tucked her legs beneath her, kneeling on the bench with her hands folded over her knees. Opening her eyes wide, she said with genuine expectation, “Actually, I’d love to be kissed awake by you every day!”
The tension that had been pulled taut in Medeili’s heart snapped at Wang Yue’s “careless” words. Tears finally overflowed, and with a loud wail, she threw herself into the girl’s arms, sobbing, “You’re so good to me… I like you so much… I love you so much!”
“I know… I know…”
Wang Yue stroked the girl’s small head, her fingers brushing through hair that felt like silk ribbons. She felt a profound sense of satisfaction.
The Church.
A long, pure white meditation room.
Golden sunlight slanted in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tiny flecks of holy light dancing within the beams.
Elliot Sanchez held a dark gold silk handkerchief, dabbing the sweat from his brow as his gaze fell upon a bird’s nest-shaped cradle woven from vines.
“Is it my imagination? Why does she always crawl toward the north?”
A pink, fleshy little lump was squirming across the soft cotton pads—a newborn infant.
Jeremy Phillips, the First Cardinal Bishop and acting proxy for the Pope’s authority, stood beside the cradle.
The handsome, clean-shaven man stood with his hands behind his back, elbows flared out. His bespoke white-gold ceremonial robes emphasized his tall, slender frame. His spine was as straight as a halberd, and he stood with his feet apart in a solemn posture.
“Your Excellency Elliot, that is ‘Bloodline Affinity.’ A Living Husk will always seek out and remain close to its bloodline granter.”
Jeremy’s voice was rhythmic and clear, possessing the resonant quality of a poetic recital.
“So it’s that fellow,” Elliot muttered, switching the handkerchief to his left hand to dab the other side of his forehead. “That damned heretic, that Faithless one. To think he escaped our control… unforgivable.”
“Your Excellency Elliot, your vision and temperament are far too narrow. If I may be blunt, one does not become Pope simply by racking up achievements. You lack imagination; your thoughts are impoverished and dull,” Jeremy lectured.
The fat Bishop didn’t dare talk back.
Ever since the prophecy of “Blood Dripping from Heaven” and the weeks of Cardinal Council meetings that followed, his only conclusion was that Jeremy Phillips was a complete lunatic.
The man’s ideas were pathologically abnormal, entirely different from those of a sane person.
The most terrifying part was that Jeremy used his symphonic eloquence to persuade everyone to execute his mad, horrific, and heartless plans.
“Your Excellency Jeremy, this Living Husk is intended for…” Elliot asked tentatively.
“Her name is Pandora,” Jeremy whispered, a smile touching his lips. He folded his long fingers over his chest before spreading them wide, tilting his chin up as he spoke in an exceptionally tender tone. “She is the gift I have prepared for the Evernight Criminals.”
The Living Husk grew at a staggering rate of one year per day.
On the first day, Pandora was born. She was “Pure” and beautiful. Jeremy baptized her and became her godfather.
On the second day, Jeremy taught her “Greed.” She became a creature of constant taking, never giving, possessing a bottomless pit of desire.
On the third day, Jeremy gifted her “Lust.” This manifested as a craving for value—not just in the pursuit of knowledge, but in fine food, toys, girls, glittering gems, power, dominance, and all the transcendent forces of the world.
On the fourth day, Jeremy taught her the art of “Lying.” How to weave sophisticated falsehoods, subtle and hidden. How to use the absolute truth to mask a venomous heart. How to design multi-layered scams to lure people into the depths, making them sacrifice everything until they reached madness and ruin.
On the fifth day, Jeremy demonstrated the techniques of “Theft.” How to use a thin gold wire to open complex locks. How to judge the structure of a mechanism by the echoes within a keyhole. To aid this, he bestowed upon her the Mystic Art: Heart of a Thousand Mechanisms.
On the sixth day, Jeremy imparted the methods of “Instigation.” His words were cold and calculated, filled with evil subtext. He taught her how a single illusory peach could spark a bloody war among a crowd, how to stir the malice in hearts until they were blinded by hate, and how a single tear of sorrow could ignite a conflict between the strongest of men. He showed her how a careless display of wealth could destroy the most loving of couples.
On the seventh day, Jeremy brought the latest research result from The Academy—a Knowledge Injector. It could upload systematic data directly into the memory. Astronomy, geography, literature, art… the vast store of knowledge made the now seven-year-old Pandora as learned as the world’s most respected scholars.
On the eighth day, Jeremy took Pandora through the salons and gambling dens of high society, letting her experience the “refinement” of noble ladies and famous socialites.
On the ninth day, Pandora joined the church choir. Under the tutelage of Jeremy, who specialized in the craft, she developed the “Voice” of a goddess.
On the tenth day, the ten-year-old Pandora shed her childhood innocence, instantly revealing a “Beauty” capable of driving every man and woman in a nation to madness.
On the eleventh day, Pandora’s body began to emit a captivating “Fragrance.” Those who smelled it forgot their worries and slowly became addicted, losing interest in food and drink until they wasted away.
On the twelfth day, all these traits merged to create an invisible field of “Temptation.” It stirred the deepest desires of the human heart; even a man with a heart of stone would find his soul trembling and his mind drowning in her presence.
Jeremy stood with his hands behind his back, looking at his masterpiece with satisfaction. “Turn around,” he commanded.
Pandora pivoted on her toes, turning with grace.
The Bishop reached out with his long, strong fingers and unfastened the ribbons of the girl’s dress one by one. The gown slid down past her hips, exposing her snow-white back.
His fingertips felt along the base of her neck until they lifted a small flap of soft human skin, revealing a hidden silver zipper head.
Then, he pulled it down.
Fair skin and yellowish fascia parted. The porcelain-white spine split evenly and straightly into interlocking teeth, accompanied by a series of wet pop-pop sounds until it reached her waist.
Jeremy reached inside and pulled the two flaps of fresh red flesh and bone apart. He then took an ancient silver box from a tray held by a waiting maid.
The silver box was decorated with eerie, twisted engravings—tentacles, insect legs, eyeballs, intestines, vortices, and crystals. It radiated a demonic power.
Calmly, Jeremy shoved the “Magic Box” into the depths of Pandora’s flesh.
Finally, he pulled the zipper back up, the spine interlocking once more.
“A truly perfect work of art,” he sighed.
